by Ann Turnbull
My master arrived, and went into his office, and I started work on the notices. Halfway through the morning Kate appeared. Instead of Mary she had brought Patience with her to carry the jug of beer. As soon as she saw Antony, Patience ran to his arms and they began talking together in soft, urgent tones in their own language.
I saw that they made George Bainbrigg uneasy. “Kate,” he said, “take Patience back to the house. And don’t bring her again unless I ask thee.”
Later that day, when I had finished the notices, he took one of them and went out to meet other traders and spread the word that he had slaves for sale as well as sugar and rum.
Almost immediately we had enquiries. A trader called the next morning, and my master sent me up to the house to fetch Patience so that she and Antony were available for viewing together.
There was a steady flow of customers throughout the morning for the sugar and rum we had brought back from Barbados, and I was left to deal with these and other routine sales while George Bainbrigg showed Patience and Antony to prospective buyers and answered questions.
In the afternoon, when Patience was back at the house, he called me to him. “Jos, I want thee to draw up bills of sale for Antony and Patience. Come into the office and I’ll give thee the names and figures.”
At once I felt breathless with anxiety.
“It is all settled, then?” I tried to sound business-like, but he must have heard the tremor in my voice, for his glance at me was sympathetic.
“Yes. As I thought, there is a need in Pennsylvania for Negro labour. It will be a growing need, I reckon, as the colony develops. I had no trouble finding buyers, and both will pay in coin, which is excellent.”
“Both?” I felt a sinking in my stomach. “There are two? They are to be sold separately?”
“Yes. Yes, I know, Jos, it’s not what thou and Kate hoped. But it was unavoidable. I found a buyer for Patience straight away who agreed to my price. I tried hard to interest him in Antony – told him the two were attached and would work well together and probably breed – but he wanted only the girl, as a house servant for his wife; said he had bonded labourers for the land. He has a plot eight miles or so from town, west of the Schuylkill, near Darby Creek.” He showed me where on the map of Pennsylvania on the wall.
“But – Antony?” I said. The blood beat in my ears.
“He is to be sold to a settler on one of the plots north of the city.”
“This man wouldn’t take Patience?”
“I didn’t ask. By that time I’d already agreed the sale with the other.”
“Couldn’t you tell him you’d changed your mind?”
He gave me a sharp look. “I’m a Friend, Josiah. My word is my bond.”
“But” – I stared at the map – “they’ll be far apart, and across rough country! They may never see each other again.”
“I doubt they will. It’s a pity, but it can’t be helped. Friends don’t haggle, as thou know. I asked a fixed price, and the man offered it.”
“I should have put ‘To be sold together’ on the notices!” I said. I felt furious, both with him and with myself.
“Thou did as I told thee.” His voice was stern. “Enough of this, Jos. It does thee credit that thou care about the Negroes, but the sales are agreed, at a good price, and after tomorrow we shall not be troubled with this matter any longer. Now, go and draw up those invoices. The girl’s buyer will be here within the hour.”
So soon! How could I prevent this? There seemed no way.
I took the note he’d written for me.
“When is Antony’s buyer coming for him?” I asked.
“Tomorrow morning.”
I went to my desk and sharpened a quill and looked at the details of the sales. Patience’s buyer was John Outram of Darby Creek, and her price was thirty pounds; Antony’s was Isaac Shore, who would pay forty-two for him. Sick at heart, I wrote out the invoices, making two copies of each one so that my master had a record.
I could hear Antony and Zachary talking as they packed goods in the storage area. If Antony had guessed he was sold, he clearly knew nothing for certain.
But there was no suppressing such news, once out. Kate appeared suddenly in the outer office, saw my door open and hurried to me, demanding, “Is it done? Are they sold? Patience says several merchants came…”
She must have seen from my face that something was amiss. “Jos? What’s happened?”
“Thou had best ask thy father,” I said.
She stared at me, alarmed.
“Ask him, Kate.” I nodded towards the closed connecting door between the two offices. If anyone could move him, I thought, it would be Kate.
She knocked, and went in at his call.
I heard their voices, then a cry from Kate. My fingers tightened on the quill. Kate’s voice rose, angry and tearful; her father’s, soothing at first, became increasingly exasperated.
“But thou promised!” I heard her say.
“I promised nothing.”
There came the sound of his other door opening – the one that led directly into the outer office. He was ushering her out.
“Back to the house now, Kate. No – don’t go to Josiah! Go straight home. Say nothing of this to Patience – it will only frighten the girl – but tell Izzie to have her ready to bring here when I send for her.”
“Dad, thou can’t do this!”
As she passed my open door I saw Kate wiping tears from her face. She looked angry as well as distressed. We exchanged a quick glance. “Later!” I mouthed – and she nodded.
“Go now, Kate!” her father called. “And don’t come again. Thou hast no business here.”
She left. But then Antony appeared, and I knew he must have caught enough of the argument to cause him alarm. George Bainbrigg came out, and Antony confronted him. He stood taut, fists clenched. I sprang up and went to stand beside my master, ready to defend him if necessary.
Antony stared at us. “Master? Josiah? What’s happening?”
“Antony, thou must be locked up now,” George Bainbrigg said.
“No!”
“Jos! Zach! Hold him!”
“No!” He was bigger than any of us, and desperate. I seized one arm while Zachary took the other, but I doubted if even the three of us could restrain him.
“Where is Patience?” he demanded. “Is she hurt? Why was Kate crying?”
“Patience is safe in the house,” I said. “Don’t fear—”
“You sold her? They come for her?”
We tried to manhandle him towards the stairs, but he fought us all the way, knocking me, with a great blow, against the balustrade. Zachary, though the eldest, was strong and handy, and got him into an arm lock. He then produced a short length of rope. My master nodded, and the two of them bound Antony’s wrists behind his back. Once his arms were immobilized we were able to push him up the stairs.
“Thou had best go quietly, lad,” my master told him. “The wench is safe at the house, and thou will not be harmed here. The two of you have been sold and will leave soon.”
Antony still struggled. “Together? We go together?” he shouted, as we wrestled at the door of the room. Zachary forced him inside.
We closed the door on him and my master locked it. The door shook as Antony hurled himself against it, over and over again.
I hated myself at that moment. How could I have become part of this, when I’d called myself his friend?
My master sighed. “Well done, men. I wish Kate had not come and stirred things up. Did he hurt thee, Jos?”
“No,” I said, though I could feel a painful bruising in my ribs starting to make itself felt.
It was no more than I deserved, I thought.
And now I had more foul work to do. John Outram arrived to collect and pay for his purchase, and my master sent me to the house to fetch Patience. She came willingly enough, since she knew Antony was there, though I could see that she was afraid. And Kate made things harder by appea
ring with a tear-blotched face and throwing her arms around Patience in farewell, which set them both off crying again. I got Patience away before Kate could tell her the truth, and to try and cheer her I said, “Patience, these people are Friends, I believe; settlers with a new home a few miles downriver. Thou needn’t fear field work. Thou’ll be a maidservant, same as before…”
I was glad it took only a few moments to walk to the counting house. By the time she asked me about Antony we were there, and my master came forward with John Outram and his manservant.
John Outram was a powerfully-built man with a ruddy, all-weather tan. He greeted Patience with brusque kindness and told her, “Come now, wench. We have a boat waiting at the quay.”
Instantly, Patience understood. She looked around, wild-eyed. “Antony?” she said. Then louder, with panic in her voice, “Antony!”
A banging began in the locked room upstairs.
“Now, Patience,” my master said. “John Outram will take thee—”
“Antony!” Patience screamed. She made to break away from us, but John Outram and his servant seized and held her. Upstairs, Antony yelled to be let out. He beat on the door. “Miata!”
“Tokpa!” Patience wailed, and the two of them cried out to each other in their own language; a great stream of it poured from them, frantic, despairing. I don’t know what promises and endearments they made, but the sound tore at my heart.
“Oh, let them at least see each other once more!” I exclaimed.
But the two men had already forced Patience to the main entrance. She clung to the door with both hands, screaming, and had to be prised off; I heard her struggling and crying all the way along the street. Meanwhile, upstairs, Antony hurled himself against the door of his prison with a persistent, hopeless banging.
I was left trembling with shock.
My master let out a long sigh. “Oh, that was a bad business! I’m sorry thou had to be involved in it, Jos.” Overhead, the thumps and shouts continued. “But they’ll get over it; they’ll settle down in no time. And Patience is a good girl. She’ll do well with the Outrams.”
I nodded – too full of emotion to reply. Antony and Patience loved each other. They were both alone now, in a strange land, each of them separated from the only person who spoke their language and knew their ways and held a similar store of memories from childhood. They would not soon settle down – and I had helped to separate them.
For the rest of that day I asked myself, over and over: Could I have prevented this? Should I have acted differently, refused to co-operate? I did not think I could have stopped the sale. But by taking part I had betrayed Antony and Patience and proved myself one of the slavers.
Twenty
As usual my master left me to sweep the floors and lock up. Antony was still locked in the storeroom. He had stopped banging his shoulders against the door, but he was not silent. I could hear a low, faint, monotonous singing that carried a weight of sorrow in it.
My master had told me not to speak to Antony, to let him be; but as soon as he was gone I put down my broom and hurried upstairs to the storeroom door.
The singing continued, low and insistent.
“Tokpa,” I said.
The sound stopped.
“Tokpa, I’m sorry—”
“I am Antony to thee.”
His words cut me to the heart. He had entrusted me with his name because he thought I was his friend. Now he withdrew it.
My voice broke as I said, “Antony, I’m sorry. I could not prevent this. Patience has gone—”
“I’ll follow her!” he shouted. “They take her from me but I’ll find her! I’ll escape. I won’t let them catch me. I’ll die first!”
“Antony, listen. Don’t despair. I’ll help thee. I don’t know how, but—”
“Let me out!” The door shook as he hurled himself against it. “Let me out! Let me out! Let me out!”
His fury shocked and terrified me. I could not think what to do or say – and it was with a deep sense of my own wrongdoing that I left him banging and shouting and went back to the house.
Our evening meal began with silence, as always; but this silence was loud with unspoken thoughts. My master appeared exhausted and out of temper. Kate’s eyes were red. She looked resentful, and I guessed she had been pleading with her father again, to no avail. He was a fond parent and she was not accustomed to being thwarted. We exchanged quick, sympathetic glances, and I longed to be alone with her so that we could talk.
The meal that followed was difficult. I could scarcely eat; I felt it would choke me. I watched Kate push a piece of meat around on her plate. When her father urged her to eat she said she was not hungry; and then her lips trembled and she asked to be excused, saying she felt unwell, and went, I supposed, to her bedchamber. Hob, aware that something was wrong, whined and turned anxious eyes on us.
When, mercifully, supper was at last over, I asked my master if I should take food and drink to Antony as I had done the night before.
“No,” he said. “He can wait till morning – it won’t hurt him. Best not to open that door. He might even attack thee and escape.”
To my shame I felt almost relieved. I dreaded encountering Antony again in his distraught condition. Even so, I argued on his behalf. “His wrists are bound.”
“He’s a strong man, and desperate.”
“So we’ll leave him bound all night?”
He lost patience then. “Yes! We’ll leave him.”
I went to my room on the top floor and paced about, wrestling with my sense of guilt and powerlessness. I wanted to help Antony. I had to help him. But what could I do? My master had made it clear that he would not discuss the matter further. No doubt he felt some guilt too, and that accounted for his distaste for the trade in what the merchants called “live cargo”. But he would not go back on his word; I could expect no change of heart from him.
I walked to the window, which faced west. Golden light was flooding into the room, laying a bright chequered pattern of small panes on the boards. We were close to midsummer; it would not be dark for hours yet. I looked out and tried to draw comfort from the freshness of the trees, the light, the songs of birds, but all I could think of was Patience, arriving by boat at the plot near Darby Creek, far from Antony and any other of her race; and of Antony, locked in that storeroom with no sight of this golden evening, forced to lap water like a dog because his wrists were bound, and no doubt feeling less than a man because he had not been able to prevent his girl from being taken away.
A light tap at my door broke into these thoughts. Mary, I guessed, sent by Isobel on some domestic task.
I opened the door – and Kate stepped into the room.
“Kate!”
“Ssh!” She closed the door softly behind her. “No one must know I’m here.”
Alarm at our situation – what if her father found out? – mingled with joy and relief as I gathered her into my arms. Her fair hair hung loose on her shoulders, and as she leaned against me I realized that she wore no stays. She must have been ready for bed, in her shift, and had simply flung her gown over it and run upstairs to me, barefoot and without a cap. We clung together and kissed each other and I tasted tears on her face.
“Don’t cry,” I said. “Don’t cry, love” – though I was crying too.
I could scarcely believe I had Kate like this in my bedchamber. It was what I’d often imagined and desired but…
“Kate,” I whispered, kissing her face, her neck, “thou should not be here. Thy father – I don’t know what he’d do if he caught us.”
“How else could I meet thee?” she asked, drawing me away from the door, so that our whispering was not overheard. She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Dad or Izzie is always around, and I had to talk to thee. Jos, this awful thing… Antony and Patience… Dad won’t listen…”
“I did wrong. I should have refused—”
“Thou couldn’t!”
“But Antony believes I’m his enemy
now – and who can blame him? I’ve been thinking of him, trapped there. And Patience – oh, if thou had seen how she screamed and struggled!”
“Patience is with child,” she said.
I drew back, and stared at her. “She told thee?”
“Yes. And I told my father” – her voice broke – “and it still did not move him. I said they should be together, that if I was with child I’d rather die than be separated from – from my sweetheart…” She looked down, blushing. “But he said I should not even be thinking about such matters, that it was unseemly in a young girl; and I said it was unseemly for a man and a father to tear a young girl away from her sweetheart and sell her into slavery… Oh, Jos, we had such a big argument, and he was so angry, and no good has come of it. He has forbidden me to interfere in his business affairs. Jos, what can we do to help them?”
My heart began to pound. I knew what I must do.
I realized that I had known all along, but had pushed the thought to the back of my mind. But Antony himself had told me. “Let me out!” he had cried. “I’ll follow her!”
“I must release him,” I said. “Unlock the door. Set him free.”
She stared at me, wide-eyed, frightened. “Oh, Jos, thou can’t! My father will be furious with thee.”
“Dost thou have a better idea?”
She shook her head. “Only … to plead with my father … beg him to buy her back… But I’ve already tried that, and he won’t do it. I thought of asking the meeting for help, but—”
“The meeting would not come between him and his legitimate trade. And there is no time!” I said.
I felt fired up now, eager to act, and as I spoke I saw the light leap in her eyes and knew she had caught my urgency.
“When wilt thou do it?” she asked.
“When it gets dark – when the household are all a-bed. I’ll take him up beyond the Kites’ place, towards the Schuylkill. If he wants to find Patience he’ll need to cross that river and travel overland. But it’s only eight or nine miles. That’ll be safer than going to the waterfront here. He’d never get a boat. They’d know he was a slave.”
